


Find Your Way by Moonlight

by Dialects_and_Costumes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angsty-ish?, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, Soulmates, Soulmates with a dash of individual choice, dreams sent by the gods, more than anything this fic is a love letter to Brienne, so uhhhh if that's not your thing you should probably press the back button, sorta????, stubborn allies to lovers, writer makes up more Tarth mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dialects_and_Costumes/pseuds/Dialects_and_Costumes
Summary: Brienne has been visited by comforting dreams her entire life. When she learns the origin of her dreams, she runs away from home to take her fate into her own hands.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 30
Kudos: 97
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	Find Your Way by Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majicienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majicienne/gifts).



> majicienne requested a hopeful/happy ending and soulmates for their vibes, which I hope this delivered on! I was inspired mostly by a quotation from Dr. Seuss of all places: "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."
> 
> Title is paraphrased from _The Critic as Artist_ by Oscar Wilde.

The dream is always the same and always different.

* * *

Brienne remembers being five the first time her mother asks her about her dreams. Brienne is crying on the floor of the main hall, frustrated at her brother for waking her from a nap. Five year old Brienne does not want to play Pirates, but ten year old Galladon does not dream like she does, and ten year old Galladon has not learned to leave Brienne and her dreams be. Her mother’s eyes hold sapphire memories and the salt of the sea as she shoos her eldest away, and Brienne tells her she dreams about golden sunrises, crackling hearths, and the warmth of the best cloak in the wardrobe.

Brienne’s mother has a sad smile as she slowly kneels on the floor next to Brienne, maneuvering her pregnant belly as gracefully as she can.

“One day you will wish to never fall asleep, my little star… and perhaps you will even forget that Galladon would not let you nap in peace.”

Her mother’s arms wrap around her daughter, and Brienne curls into her mother’s frame, even as she frowns in doubt that she will ever forget this latest injustice wrought by her brother. Soon the rocking motion has allowed Brienne to escape once again into a hazy dream-world of gold and warmth.

It is the last time Brienne tells her mother of her dreams. She remembers that there are only three dreams between that moment and the day her father holds both her and Galladon close as he tells them the Stranger had taken her mother and her two sisters away.

“Is this the day I won’t want to fall asleep?” Brienne remembers asking. Galladon shoves away from them both, and Brienne had catches a glimmer of light betraying his tear-stained cheeks as he runs away towards the harbor.

Selwyn watches his son gravely until he disappears beyond the rocky horizon before he looks down at his daughter, still tiny in his arms. Brienne remembers his strong hands smoothing her straw-like strands of hair down. Brienne worries, even as her father holds her close. He never would have let Galladon run away like that before.

“No, little star. That day will be a happy one. Today is not.”

Brienne remembers being afraid as her father cries into her hair.

* * *

Brienne remembers being seven when her brother asks her about her dreams. Galladon is gangly and awkward as he begins to grow past adolescence, and he refuses to let Brienne out of his sight.

“Why do you dream and I don’t, Brienne?” Galladon asks as he dances in the shallow waves breaking upon the shore.

Brienne shrugs as she balances on the driftwood lining the shore, mastering it as only a seven year old can. Galladon splashes her, and Brienne shrieks in protest.

“I don’t know! Mama never told me what the dreams mean, only that I wouldn’t need them one day.” Brienne has been her father and brother’s strength over the last two years. She sleeps and the warm golden light of her dreams give her courage to wake up and do it again each morning. She allows Galladon to ask his nosy questions and only sometimes steals his own wooden sword as a form of retribution. With her father, she pretends not to hear him as he frets about ever finding her a husband, and Brienne only sometimes suggests he need not worry since Galladon will be there to take care of her. She does not do it often because when she says that, her father looks like he has seen a ghost.

“I heard a sailor say the dreams mean you’re cursed.” Galladon does not mean to be cruel, but Brienne feels the sting of his words regardless.

“Mama wouldn’t have let me be cursed.” Brienne shoots back at her brother, turning away from him to sulk. Brienne may have settled into her new role as caretaker of her father and brother, but she is still only seven. Her brother huffs as he tosses his tunic at her back, and she hears a splash that means he has ducked under the surface.

Brienne turns back to chastise him for swimming without their father to watch over them, but she instead watches in horror as a rip current pulls Galladon farther from the shore. He is panicking and Brienne can see him trying to swim against the merciless pull of the current. She screams at him to stop fighting, she screams at him to tread water until the ripping water dies down, she screams for help, but her screams go unheard.

Brienne watches helplessly from the shore as the water does the Stranger’s work and claims her brother.

She is found later halfway up the path leading back to Evenfall, pulling at Galladon’s unmoving frame, shaking from the exertion as she tries to drag him home. Her father’s master at arms is forced to yank the two apart as Brienne chokes on sobs and half-hysterical cries for help. This time, Selwyn does not smooth her hair back, and he does not call her little star to comfort her. Brienne doesn’t see her father cry as she is whisked away to the empty nursery.

Brienne cries herself to sleep, alone in the room once intended to be full of children, and the golden light comforts her in her dreams.

* * *

Nine years pass. Brienne continues to dream.

* * *

It is only when Brienne reaches her sixteenth nameday that she learns why she dreams of sunny practice-fields and of the just-right feel of a perfectly balanced blade. The dream is always filled with warm light, but as she has grown, the images of amorphous warmth have sharpened into small, comforting realities that make sleep the only time she is truly happy. She has spent nine years awkwardly trying to grow into the title of Heir to the Evenstar, a feat made more difficult each time her father changes his mind on what that should mean.

On good days, he pats Brienne on the shoulder absentmindedly, pays no mind to the breeches she has decided to wear, and sends her off to Goodwin or one of the Stewards for lessons on how to protect and sustain the Isles of Tarth. She learns arithmetic, reading, and how to barricade Evenfall against the incursion of pirates, and she feels ready to step into the role she must fill for her people. She misses Galladon the most those days, even as she knows his presence would mean her absence in these rooms.

On the bad days, her father frowns until Brienne excuses herself from the main hall to lace herself into stays and a dress that pinches in all the wrong places. When she returns, her father turns from her and asks her Septa to inform him on her progress to turn Brienne into a fine lady. Roelle no longer has the strength to drag Brienne from the hall, so she now simpers at her father’s retreating form before turning to unleash venom tinged with a rotten false sympathy. Roelle holds up a looking glass to Brienne’s face, demanding she see how misfortunate her twice-broken nose and short, straw-like hair are, and how those features along with her strong arms and long limbs mean the death of the island. She sneers when Brienne sets her jaw, and Brienne can only sit in stony silence as Roelle relishes how only a monstrous man would ever wed her. Brienne never comes down to dinner with her father on those days, her adolescent attempt to punish him for Roelle’s presence, and she almost always barricades herself in the library until the lamp she lights to read begins to struggle and sputter.

These are the days Brienne aches for her mother.

It is one of those days when she drifts off in a window seat in the farthest corner of Evenfall’s library. She has a book on the island’s agriculture open on her lap, and the flickering light from the lamp is soon replaced by the warmth of her dreams. Tonight, Brienne dreams of someone taking her hand and holding it close to their chest. It is a new form of warmth, and Brienne is not used to it, but she longs for it as she did the warm blankets in her childhood dreams.

The book slides from her lap, and Brienne is startled awake by the noise of its thump against the wood floor. Brienne picks up the book, but she pauses, looking up at the shelves around her. Her dream has her wishing for a less practical read, and there is no one here to scold her for indulging in a fairytale.

Brienne sets the book gently on her window seat before wandering over to a shelf that has grown dusty and forgotten over the past nine years. It had been her favorite when Galladon had first snuck her into the library to learn her letters. The old pages are filled with magical drawings of fair maids and dashing knights, magic swords and tyrant kings. Brienne has not touched them since Galladon’s death, so it is with trembling hands that she pulls a book off the shelf. She is proud that she does not cry as she clutches it to her chest.

Once Brienne is curled back up in her window with an aged quilt around her shoulders, she brushes dust off the cover. It is a book of Tarthean legends; Brienne flips open the book and allows herself the time to be a daydreamer once more. She reads about the ancient sea gods who blessed the shores of Tarth when it emerged from the deep waters of its sapphire seas. She reads about mermaids protecting the isles when the Andals landed. She reads and reads and reads, devouring each tale with a joy she has not felt in nine years except for her dreams.

Just as she is beginning to drift off once more, this time with dreams of romance and timeless chivalry, Brienne begins a new tale in the book:

_The Dreams of the Evenstar_

_In the time of the old gods, there was once a young princess who became the Evenstar. Although the young Evenstar was kind and strong and had eyes that matched the Isle’s sparkling sapphire seas, the old men of the island did not trust her youth. They claimed they would help the young Evenstar become as beloved and respected as her father had been, and the young Evenstar felt the need to obey their instructions as she took the Isle of Tarth under her protection._

_One day, the young Evenstar decided it was time for her to find a suitable man to marry. When she spoke to her advisors, they demanded the chance to pick her groom for her. The young Evenstar had no choice but to agree, and soon the advisors were quarrelling among themselves on who the young Evenstar should marry._

_Some argued she must find a man from a family known for bearing many healthy children._

_“For how are we to survive against pirates without multiple heirs?” They cried. The young Evenstar frowned in silence. Did they think her nothing more than a broodmare?_

_Others argued the young Evenstar must choose a man from a family loved by the invaders who had landed on the mainland’s shores and claimed the multiple kingdoms as their own._

_“For how are we to survive if the barbarian King attacks our land?” The young Evenstar gritted her teeth. Did they think she would not fight to defend the island?_

_The advisors fought and argued until the sun went down, and finally, the young Evenstar grew frustrated with her advisors’ squabbles. As she sent them away, she prayed to the gods for wisdom and courage._

_When the young Evenstar went to bed that evening, she had a most magical dream. In her dream, she tasted the finest berries, heard the sweetest music, and she could smell the mist that formed on the straits of Tarth after the first storm of spring. She inhaled deeply in the dream, her eyes closed, until a booming voice that rang like a chorus of bells echoed in her head._

_“Send out three ships to the shores of the mainland. Ask your question. Only then shall you find a man worthy of our island.” The voice faded, but the glorious tranquility of her dream stayed until morning._

_When the young Evenstar woke, the sun had not yet risen, and she knew she must act quickly. She quickly went to her writing desk and crafted three identical letters, closing them with the Seal of Tarth. The young Evenstar hurried to the stables to saddle her horse, and soon she was riding swiftly to the harbor. The sun had not yet risen, but the docks were full of activity through the glow of lantern-light. The young Evenstar approached her three most trusted captains, handing them a copy of the letter she had written moments ago._

_“Do not return without a man who comes to answer this letter.”_

_As the sun rose, the young Evenstar watched three ships bearing her azure and pink standard racing towards the horizon and the mainland, and it was only when she could no longer make out their shapes that she returned to Evenfall._

_Her advisors were furious._

_“How can we protect our island when you defy us?” They shouted, gnashing their teeth and tugging their hair._

_The young Evenstar’s only reply was this: “The gods defy you. I will find a man worthy of our island with their help, and not yours.”_

_The advisors abandoned Evenfall Hall, and the young Evenstar waited alone. Her only consolation was the dream from before, a gift from the gods to bring her comfort until her courage was rewarded._

_It was a month before the young Evenstar’s patience was rewarded and the first ship arrived back in the islands small port. The captain of this ship was her most daring, and he had brought with him a commander from the army of the new King. This man was tall, with arms like tree trunks, and he clutched the young Evenstar’s letter in his hand._

_She received the commander in the Main Hall of Evenfall and hid her nervously twisting hands under her dress._

_“You bear my letter, ser.” The young Evenstar said, and the commander bowed._

_“I do, my Lady.”_

_“In this letter, I ask a question in return for gold.”_

_“You do, my Lady. ‘Why does a man cross the sea?’”_

_The young Evenstar nodded. “Do you come with an answer, ser?”_

_“A man crosses the sea to conquer, my Lady.” The commander’s answer came from his mouth like a rallying cry to send soldiers into battle, and the young Evenstar did her best to hide her disappointment._

_“Thank you, ser. My captain will see you home with the gold I promised for your answer.”_

_That night, the Evenstar gladly fell into bed and dreamed._

_The next day, as the ship carrying the commander left port, a second ship bearing the young Evenstar’s standard returned. While the first ship had her bravest captain at its helm, this ship was captained by the cleverest man on Tarth. He had brought with him a renowned scholar from the Citadel, the only man allowed in its hallowed halls who did not bear the chains of a Maester._

_This man was slight, with grey intelligent eyes that seemed to flicker around the entire hall, categorizing each stone and wooden board by age and type before they settled on the young Evenstar._

_She felt an unease in her stomach, but she spoke._

_“You bear my letter, my lord.” The young Evenstar said, and the scholar nodded._

_“I do, Lady Evenstar.”_

_“In this letter, I ask a question in return for gold.”_

_“You do, Lady Evenstar. ‘Why does a man cross the sea?’”_

_The young Evenstar nodded. “Do you come with an answer, my lord?”_

_“A man crosses the sea to obtain knowledge, Lady Evenstar.” The scholar’s answer sounded like the brush of ancient pages being turned in dusty halls, and the young Evenstar was once again disappointed._

_“Thank you, my lord. My captain will see you home with the gold I promised for your answer.”_

_The young Evenstar abandoned her Hall, trying not to despair. The gods had instructed her to send only three ships, and both the men from the first two ships had answered poorly. Her island did not need a conqueror or a scholar. They would inhabit the isle of Tarth to be sure, but the young Evenstar knew they would not allow its straits and estuaries into their hearts._

_As the young Evenstar lay her head down to sleep, she found comfort in her dreams once more._

_Months passed. The third ship did not return._

_Soon, the young Evenstar stopped looking for her azure and pink standard each morning, and she slowly invited her advisors back to Evenfall Hall, giving up hope of being able to find a match for herself. She listened to their quarrels, nodded when they asked her to interfere, and continued to dream._

_Three weeks after the Evenstar had stopped looking on the horizon for the third ship, a message came from the harbor announcing its return. This time, the young Evenstar forgo inviting the bearer of the letter to the Hall, and she rushed to the stables so she could ride into the village herself._

_When she arrived at the ship, she was confused. The captain of the third ship was also the kindest man on Tarth, and the young Evenstar’s closest friend, and he held her letter in his hands._

_“You bear my letter.” The young Evenstar said._

_“I do.” The kind captain’s eyes captivated the young Evenstar._

_“Did you open it and read it?”_

_“I did. I could find no man with an answer worthy of the one you ask.”_

_“Do you have an answer for me?”_

_“I do. A man crosses the sea for love.”_

_The young Evenstar took the hand of the kind captain, and suddenly felt as if she was asleep for she could taste the finest berries, and she could hear the sweetest music, and the kind captain seemed to smell like the Straits of Tarth after the first storm of spring._

_They walked back to Evenfall Hall together to begin their long and happy life together. It is said every Evenstar since that day and those they are meant to love shall be blessed with dreams from the gods, and this is why the isle of Tarth still stands._

Brienne looks in disbelief at the book of tales. She would think she has gone mad, but her dreams are almost exactly like the young Evenstar’s in the tale, and she cannot help but remember her mother asking about her dreams. Her mother, who knew every magic story about the flowers they would pass in their walk to the shoreline. Her mother, who spoke of a day when she would no longer wish to dream. Her mother, who looked at her father the way Brienne imagines she must look when she longs to dream. She thinks of her father who seems to rush to sleep faster than Brienne does, and she wonders if his only solace is in the way his dreams must surely be more potent than any memory of her mother.

Brienne’s thoughts stall as she looks down at the final words in the story. _“Every Evenstar”_. Brienne feels sick as she remembers her mother’s sad smile and her father’s haunted face. Brienne has always had dreams.

Galladon had not.

Brienne cries as she clutches the book to her chest, missing her mother and her brother, horrified that some predetermined gift from the gods meant her brother would die. Her only solace is that the story tells her something Roelle has done her best to claim is impossible. Somewhere in the great, vast world, there is someone who also dreams and is meant to love her.

Brienne holds onto this waking dream until the suitors begin to arrive four years later.

* * *

Brienne remembers the day she decides that she can no longer humor her father’s obsessive desire to find her a husband. She has had only the smallest moments to rebel as her father sends letters across the blue waters separating them from the mainland. She has broken a man’s arm rather than accept his hand in marriage, and she has decreed she will not find her future spouse in a ballroom.

Her father still persists in finding new ways to bring suitors to Tarth in ways that Brienne cannot possibly protest to.

One night, as she sits between her father and “a potential trade partner for the marble we’ve been able to begin mining this past summer”, Brienne realizes she must do more than these minor rebellions if she is ever to seek out her own happiness, and she plans her escape in between courses and polite conversation with two men who not look at her. It is the only night she sees it as a blessing, for there would be no disguising the hope in her blue eyes as her mind races if her father were to look at her tonight. The sun sets, and her father dismisses her for the evening. Brienne makes a shallow curtsy, and she rushes from the room.

Septa Roelle has been gone for two years now at Brienne’s insistence, and she is alone as she unlaces her gown and stays swiftly. Tucked away into a dark corner of her wardrobe are several sets of men’s clothing purloined from the washing lines. She changes into the warmest clothes, and quickly assembles various things she has collected in her fantasy of one day running away. She has both a pistol and a dagger to protect herself, and she carefully adds extra ammunition to her pack of supplies. Before buckling her pack, Brienne clasps the one item of clothing she and her father had not argued about over her shoulders. It is a magnificent woolen carrick coat in a rich blue. She only takes a moment to write a hastily scrawled note to her father, placing it on the book of Tarthean tales, before stealing out into the dark passageways of Evenfall.

The young Evenstar from the tales might have had the ability to send out a small selection of her armada to carry her letters, but the Evenstars of today must make do with a single ship bearing their standard. Brienne nods pleasantly to the captain and gives him the barest of details, a lie she’s been crafting since she began the trek down to the harbor. She has been made an offer of marriage, she says, but the suitor in question cannot leave his estate to visit her in person to sign their marriage contract. She will be journeying there herself, and she desires they leave at first light in the morning.

The captain is her father’s age and Brienne remembers him throwing a blanket around her shoulders as a child when she was discovered trying to bring Galladon back to Evenfall. He crinkles his eyes when Brienne speaks of her marriage proposal, and she feels a pang of guilt for the first time since she decided to run away. These are her people, and she is planning to abandon them on the whim of a fairy tale. Brienne knows that she has no recourse but to continue, however, and she fights back the guilt and smiles back at the captain before he turns to bark orders at his second-in-command.

The ship departs the harbor as the sun begins to light the horizon, and Brienne falls asleep to let her dreams chase away her guilt.

* * *

Two weeks pass. Brienne dreams.

* * *

Another guilt-laden lie about her betrothed sending further transport allows Brienne to escape into the bustle and noise of the Storm’s End harbor without more than a word of caution from the captain. He has seen Brienne training over the years; he, like all of Tarth, knows that Brienne is more than capable of defending herself.

Brienne makes her way up to the Storm’s End estate. Over the two week journey from Tarth, Brienne has had much time to think about what awaits her on the mainland. There is a corner of her that is still sixteen, hoping this will end as all fairytales do, with her finding love, but more than anything, Brienne wishes to learn more of the world than what she has read in reports and histories collecting dust in the library. She has an opportunity before duty overtakes all else, and she is not one to waste it. She will use her quest to hear the answers others give to the young Evenstar’s question, and no matter their answer, she is determined she will learn from it.

Brienne has always found success in _doing_ things, and so this journey already feels like a success. A blade or firearm in hand, a load lifted off a merchant’s ship, or a day spent trekking through the farmlands of the inner loop of the island, these are all things Brienne is certain of. She adjusts the pack on her shoulders and focuses on her hike up from the port to the ruling family’s estate.

When Brienne introduces herself at the main gate, she learns the masters of the Stormlands have left the youngest Baratheon in charge of their affairs as they attend to the King’s court. Brienne finds herself blushing at the fresh faced Renly who greets her with an enthusiasm that makes her blush even more. There is nothing of the golden light of Brienne’s dreams when Renly takes Brienne’s hand to kiss it, however, and she much prefers that feeling to the awkward butterflies in her stomach.

Renly cheerfully thanks Brienne for distracting him from the tedium of managing the great Storm’s End estate while his elder brothers attend the King and asks what he can do to help her.

“I’m searching for the ending of a story found in the old records of Tarth. A former Evenstar sent men out to find the answer to a question, and she received all but one answer. I-I wished to see if someone had any records of the last answer she never obtained.” Renly is kind to not laugh as Brienne stumbles through her reasons.

“A last hurrah before you must marry?” Renly’s question is shrewd, and he laughs at Brienne’s responding blush. “Very well, Lady Brienne. Our records are yours to explore. The gods know I’m not one to stand idly by when there’s nuptials to interfere with!”

Renly leads her to the pristine library, and before he turns to leave, his clever brow quirked at Brienne. “What question did your Evenstar wish the answer to?”

Brienne does not pause to wonder if she will sound child-like or naïve as she responds, “Why does a man cross the sea?”

Renly nods. “A fair question to be asked by the ruler of an island. Was one of the answers knowledge?” Brienne nods, and is hasty to cover her surprise at Renly’s answer. His returning grin is wry.

“Do not think I am completely empty-headed just because I flounce around the halls all day doing my best to do absolutely nothing, Lady Brienne. I wish you well as you search for more answers.”

Brienne spends an hour enjoying the library, but she knows she will not find any more answers for herself here in the halls of the Storm’s End estate. She has her answer from the lovely and aloof Renly; it is time to move on to seek out others.

Renly insists on providing Brienne with a pack mule before she sets out the next morning, and his parting words surprise her with the soundness of his advice.

“You might try heading to the Reach next, Lady Brienne. The old Dowager Tyrell is a monstrous force to be reckoned with, but if anyone knows anything about the struggles and history of powerful women, it’s her.” Renly pauses before lowering his voice, his face half in shadow. “Tell her grandson I send my best regards.”

Brienne leaves Storm’s End headed towards Highgarden, and later that evening, she falls asleep against the slumbering mule, draped in her woolen duster.

Brienne dreams.

* * *

Brienne journeys through the Stormlands unimpeded. She thanks any gods listening for her strong and tall form which seems to deter any would-be assailants each evening before she sleeps with her dagger close at hand. It takes her nearly three weeks to reach Summerhall where she resupplies and rests at a ramshackle inn by the border.

The border guards she meets the next morning allow her to cross, but not before warning her of the dangers ahead. The Reach has been overrun with bandits for the past three summers, thanks in no part, the guards say, “To that wretch of a commander, Jaime Lannister.” News of the unceremonious ousting of Major Targaryen had reached Tarth last summer, so Brienne isn’t all too surprised to hear about the resulting deserters-turned-brigands infiltrating the surrounding kingdoms. She thanks both men for their concerns, but continues resolutely towards Highgarden.

Brienne is alone on the road that runs parallel to the Cockleswhent, and she keeps both her pistol and dagger ready as she and the mule make their way steadily to the South. She hears the birds stop trilling before the thunder of hooves, and she manages to lead the mule off the road and secure him to a sturdy tree before a cluster of bandits ride into view.

Brienne realizes too late she is still wearing her blue duster, and the men on horseback holler as they spot her against the verdant green of the trees. She fires off a warning shot, but it does nothing more than aggravate the horses on the road. Before she has a chance to run, Brienne is surrounded by men pointing rifles at her. She drops her weapons immediately. She’s not a complete fool; she knows she cannot fight twelve rifles with only a pistol and a dagger.

A thin, gaunt man with a greasy goatee rides forward, and Brienne would be outraged to be captured by such obvious villains if she wasn’t so afraid. The man slobbers as he speaks, and Brienne’s anger and fear make her bristle.

“Well, what do we have here, ladth?” The man’s lisp flings spittle at her, and Brienne clenches her fists together to keep from flinching. She stays silent.

“Some bitch ridin’ toll-free on our road, Vargo.” Brienne remains stone-faced as the speaker leers at her.

Vargo inhales, and Brienne hates that even the sound of his breathing is wet. “Anyone elthe here not feelin’ in the mood for gold, ladth? Sche may not look like musch, but every cunt feelth the thame, and I’ve been feelin’ an itsch that needth thracthing.”

Brienne’s arms are suddenly pinned back by two men she cannot see, and she thrashes wildly as Vargo reaches out to dig his fingers into her jaw. She manages to let out a strangled cry, but she wastes no effort on hope someone will hear it. Brienne’s powerful legs manage to make contact with Vargo’s groin, and he swears. She doesn’t know if she’ll live to regret it when she sees the fury in his eyes.

“Hold the bitsch’th legth, dammit!” He roars, and Brienne screams as she fights.

Suddenly, both Brienne and Vargo are stunned into stillness by crack followed by a spray of blood. The man holding one of Brienne’s arms slumps to the ground, dead. Brienne recovers faster from the momentary shock, and she manages to deliver a right hook to the other man holding her arms, struggling to get away as the other men surveil the surrounding forest, searching for the assailant.

Another crack, and another man drops. The bandits have forgotten Brienne for the moment, and she scrambles back into the shelter of a tree, examining the ground to see her discarded dagger and pistol glinting near the legs of one of the bandits. They’ve determined where the gunfire has come from, and before they manage to regroup, a tall, golden man strides out of the cover of the trees. Vargo laughs, a cruel, high noise that makes Brienne cringe.

“If it ithn’t the traitor himthelf. Commander Lannither, come to bring uth to the King’th juthtithe? I think you might find it hard to get an audienthe with Hith Majethty, theeing ath you betrayed hith father.”

Jaime Lannister looks almost bored as he aims two identical pistols at Vargo, but Brienne can see his set of green eyes evaluating the terrain and the remaining company of bandits. She meets his eyes, and glances down at her own weapons. Jaime follows her gaze and she sees him give an almost imperceptible nod before she starts to crawl forward.

“If it meant spending another second serving with either Aerys or you, Hoat… I’m inclined to believe I would have done it a thousand times again, smiling all the while. I have no patience for rapists.” Brienne hears the click of his pistols being cocked as she wraps her fingers around her dagger and her own firearm, and she looks up at Jaime once more.

“So, no. No dragging you back to King’s Landing today, Hoat. Just to the Stranger. I only hope I’m not there to hear him laugh as you call him the Thranger; it’s much funnier in my imagination.” Jaime fires both pistols, and then chaos descends.

The consistent gunfire spooks the horses and the run and rear up on their hind legs, throwing men from their saddles. Brienne wastes no time mourning the first man she stabs, she will deal with taking a life later. Now, she is focused on one thing: saving Jaime’s and her own. She sees Jaime draw a blade as men advance on him, and all she can do is pray to the Warrior and the old gods of Tarth as she blocks a man from running her through.

She aims; she fires. The man is dead before he hits the ground.

Brienne hears a sickening crunching noise followed by a man’s scream, and it distracts the burly man trying to swing at her with an axe long enough for her to drive her dagger into his neck. When he falls, she sees Jaime on the ground, clutching his hand, and a horse dancing away, foaming at the mouth in its agitation. There’s only one man standing at this point, and his back is turned away from Brienne.

She aims her pistol at his skull, and the final crack sends the remaining horses galloping down the road in fear.

Brienne continues to waste no time in mourning the dead men around her, and she makes her way straight for Jaime. She kneels by his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Commander Lannister?” Jaime gasps as he rolls onto his back, and Brienne can see now that a horse must have stepped on his hand. It’s completely crushed, and Brienne swallows back a wave a nausea at the fingers broken into directions they shouldn’t be. Jaime looks up at her, and utters a single word before his eyes roll back and he passes out.

“Sapphires-"

* * *

When Jaime wakes several hours later, Brienne has managed to wrap his wounded hand in bandages from her pack, and he is draped unceremoniously over her mule as she leads them away from the dead bandits. She hears him swear, and she is barely able to keep him from falling onto his injured hand as he slides off the mule into her arms. She feels Jaime gritting his teeth against her shoulder before he forces himself to stand. Brienne is taller than him, and she looks down in concern as Jaime steadies himself.

“What in the name of the Seven is happening?” He groans, and Brienne decides they’ve gone far enough away from the dead men to prevent wolves from disturbing them any further, so she stops to answer his question.

“You saved me from Vargo Hoat. A horse stepped on your hand, so I’m taking you to a Maester. I’m no healer, and that hand needs help.” Jaime squints at her, frowning.

“Who _are_ you?”

Brienne holds back a hysterical laugh. This is not what she had intended to happen when she left Tarth. She had no plans to be rescued by the man famed through the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to be a traitorous, untrustworthy wretch, and she hadn’t intended to save him in return. She supposes the gods have had enough of her playing at adventure, and that this is a sign for her to return home.

Jaime is still looking at her expectantly, and Brienne’s heart thumps against her ribcage as she takes in his sharp jaw and golden curls in the fading daylight. She has a faint thought that she should at least thank the gods for sending someone so beautiful to be their messenger.

“Brienne of Tarth.” Jaime’s surprise is clear on his face, and he stumbles as she abruptly turns into the undergrowth to find shelter.

“ _Tarth?_ As in the future Evenstar? What in the seven hells are you doing in the Reach?”

Brienne ignores him, securing the mule to a stake in the ground and looking around for a sturdy branch so she can build a lean-to for the evening in the hope of keeping the wrap around Jaime’s hand dry from any midnight showers.

Jaime is mostly quiet, but she hears him swear a few more times (she doesn’t care to find out if he’s swearing at her or not) before she is satisfied with the shelter she manages to assemble.

“Why are you in the Reach, my lady?” Jaime’s patience with Brienne’s silence has run its course, and she glances over to see him stubbornly waiting outside of the shelter she’s constructed with an expression better suited for her mule than him.

Brienne grimaces. “I came to the mainland in search of an answer to a question one of my predecessors sent across all of Westeros. It’s of no matter anymore. This was clearly a sign I should return home.”

Jaime huffs in irritation, but he does bend down and settle himself next to Brienne under the oiled leather she has secured above their heads, accepting a hunk of bread and cheese from Brienne without any further comment.

As Brienne closes her eyes, she holds back tears. She has killed men today, and while she knows in her head that she did not spill innocent blood, her heart aches at having done it.

Jaime startles her when he speaks. “What was the question?”

Brienne’s eyes fly open, and she looks over at him. He is looking back at her, and Brienne feels herself pale slightly when she feels a rush of familiar warmth at how that makes her feel.

“What was the question your predecessor sent to the mainland?”

Brienne speaks without thinking. “Why does a man cross the sea?”

Jaime’s eyes are burning like the famed wildfire of old, bright and green in the moonlight. He exhales sharply, turning away from her.

“I should have thought the answer obvious. Why do anything for any other reason than love?”

Brienne does not sleep that night.

* * *

Jaime insists he be Brienne’s escort back to the harbor in spite of his crushed hand. She tries each morning to thank him for saving her life, and Jaime does not let her. He barely lets her change the wrap around his still-healing hand, and every time Brienne looks at Jaime, he is already looking at her.

Brienne sometimes thinks she would like to throttle him for being so dismissive, but one night about ten days into their journey, she finds herself drifting off to sleep and feels Jaime pull her cloak up around her chin.

Jaime believes a man sails across the sea for love, and he is a man who cares if she catches a chill, and Brienne cannot stop _thinking_ about that.

Brienne stops trying to thank him the next morning, and Jaime stops bristling at her. Jaime continues to look at her.

Brienne sleeps.

Brienne dreams.

* * *

They are an hour from the border between the Reach and the Stormlands, huddled under the oiled leather as rain pours incessantly down upon their heads. Jaime has spent the entire day distracting himself from the pain in his hand by talking about the history of Westeros and outrageous tales from his time at Court, but now that the rainstorm has slowed their progress, Jaime is quiet again. They are pressed against one another as they lean against the mule, each one of their long limbs tucked in as far as they can to escape the rain.

“Jaime?” Brienne tries out his name, blushing slightly at the amused hum Jaime gives in reply. Jaime had told her earlier he had heard himself be called Commander enough to last him a lifetime. “What happened in King’s Landing?”

Jaime tells her.

Brienne takes his uninjured hand in hers as he weeps against her shoulder, and she is surprised once again to feel that she is in a waking dream as warmth fills her heart.

* * *

Brienne remembers the day her mother’s final words to her finally settle into her heart with understanding. Jaime is standing next to her on the cliff-side as they look down into the harbor at Storm’s End. They have continued their journey of learning of one another over the past four weeks, and Brienne regrets the moment her eyes close and she dreams every evening. She watches the fluttering pink and blue of the ship destined to take her home to her father.

“Jaime… would you cross the sea with me?” Brienne’s voice is soft, but there is nothing but the occasional call of a seabird this far up the cliff. Jaime hears her perfectly.

“I would sail until I met the edge of the world if I were with you, Brienne.”

Brienne pinches herself to ensure she is really awake, and that she is not once again escaping from the ghosts of her mother and her sisters and her brother.

There is pain.

Brienne is not dreaming.

And Jaime will sail across the sea with her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely set in a version of Westeros that's progressed to their version of an Industrial Revolution? Both firearms and blades are used equally as forms of defense simply because I liked the aesthetic, there's very little research done on making any part of this historically accurate. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only thing I googled is "carrick coat". 😂
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Here's hoping your 2021 will be an easy one <3


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